


Jam Session at Varric's

by ferretsoda



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Inquisitor Being an Asshole, Music, Musical Instruments, dixie - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-12-14 16:19:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11786865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferretsoda/pseuds/ferretsoda
Summary: It's Saturday evening, and the leader and various members of a quasi-legal, autonomous organization known as "The Inquisition" are here in his living room, playing dixieland.





	Jam Session at Varric's

 

This was the dumbest ass idea she'd ever agreed to.

 

The GPS cheerfully pointed out her destination was on the right, but she felt like turning around and going straight back to HQ. Preferably at mach 7. She'd been to de-militarized zones, met warlords and princes alike, and yet she was sweating bullets over _this_? Pathetic.

After a round of internal debate (and slowing down to a crawl), she parked a few blocks away, up a quiet little side street. Lavellan and her car didn't exactly blend in with the sleepy neighborhood she was currently in. Maybe it was the black suit and tie, or the '66 DB6, or the suspicious case she was carrying. She surveyed the sylvan suburbs, gave her car one last loving caress and started down the sidewalk.

Arriving at the long driveway, Follie did a double-take and had to check to make sure the address was correct. Her breath hitched. Was that-- that was really his house?

It was mid-century modern at its absolute finest, and probably the original architect's favorite child. It sat at the top of a small hill in all its Indian red glory, with swaths of _monstera deliciosa_ encircling it like a crown of laurels. A hint of a patio peaked out from around the corner, facing towards the dazzling view of the valley. The Inquisitor was still reeling over the house, though. It had all the earmarks: the single flagstone wall, the simplistic carport, a dramatically-angled roof, and the geometric windows that followed its path. The roof, she realized, dipped in the middle and pointed at the driveway, creating a "V" shape.

V for Varric.

How modest.

Muffled music and laughter could be heard from the front door, and suddenly her hands were sweaty again. She moved to wipe them on her pant legs when she noticed she was wearing gloves and mentally chided herself.

 _It's just one evening, just... don't fuck up, relax, just do your thing and get out of there_ , Lavellan thought as she took a shaky breath. She pressed the doorbell and-

Her phone rang.

 

* * *

 

"So I figured we'd open with "Chicago", then maybe "Tuck Me to Sleep", and then I'll order us dinner, and then we'll just go freeform from there, unless anybody has any requests. So what d'you guys want to eat?"

Bull's hand shot up immediately.

"Pizza. Anchovies and pineapple, and NO sauce," he declared. Everyone made noises of disgust. The wide, L-shaped sofa he sat on (Maker bless the poor thing) shook as he chuckled, making Dorian and Leliana nearly spill their drinks on the nice hardwood floors. Varric looked at him, unamused, before inhaling sharply and looking at everyone else.

"Anyone got any _good_ suggestions?"

"There's a very good Thai place according to this review site," Solas offered, not looking up from his phone. Blackwall leaned over to look, and eventually everyone gathered around, heads bobbing like meerkats.

"Oh, I've been there before! The best thing to get are the garlic tiger prawns. And they always throw in fortune cookies," their spymaster trilled, clapping her hands together.

"Then everyone should write down what they want and Master Tethras will place the order," Solas decided, nodding towards their host. He was about to head into the kitchen-

"Hey waiter, I need another beer!" Bull called, snapping his finger and pointing at himself. Blackwall pushed himself off his chair and padded through the doorway.

"I'll get it. Anyone else want another?" Several hands shot up. Varric gave them an exasperated look.

"We haven't even played yet! And don't drink the good stuff, I'm saving that!" he called after the bearded man currently digging through his fridge.

"Varric."

The dwarf nearly yelped- Cassandra was suddenly right next to him. She rolled her eyes as he gathered himself and jabbed a thumb at the piano behind their setup.

"Your piano is out of tune," she pointed out. Above all the noise and laughing, he faintly heard the doorbell ring.

"Cassandra, I promise you it's not," he sighed, hand massaging his temple. She'd only called him 37 times in the past week, reminding him to get it tuned. "It's fine."

"Well then why doesn't it **sound** right?" she demanded as he turned and headed towards the door. He shrugged and flashed her a devil-may-care smile.

"Maybe you're just tone-deaf!"

 

 

Upon opening the door, Varric saw the Inquisitor-- well, her back, anyway. She was leaning against the wall with one hand, the other holding the phone she was currently snarling into.

"Look, Morris, he s-- I don't _care_ what he told you, he said 35! If he's doubling his price just because I'm not there then you need to- ...is he there with you?... Put him on."

She turned slightly, allowing the dwarf a better look at her face. Her expression immediately blackened from annoyed to seething. The phone was loud enough that he could hear the voice on the other end offer their greetings to her.

"We agreed on 35. Don't even try and fuck with me. ... Because I recorded you last week, that's why. ... Yes, our little chat... No, I'm not there now, but I expect the merchandise to be there, at the warehouse, Monday morning, with the tracers."

Suddenly she turned around and was face to face with Varric. Her murderous look immediately melted into an embarrassed one. He savored it.

"Let me know if I'm interrupting anything," he said a little _too_ loud, causing the elf to make a desperate shushing motion, finger raised to clenched teeth. He grinned slyly, leaning against the doorframe, arms folded. After half a minute of listening to her hiss into her Android, he decided he'd had enough and snatched it out of her hand.

"She'll call you back," he spoke into the microphone and hung up. Before she could react, he tucked it into his shirt's breastpocket and smiled. "Glad you could finally join us, Your Inquisitorialness!" She gaped at him like a stunned bass and moved to retrieve her phone.

At the sound of her name, Solas' head rounded the corner. "Inquisitor! _Aneth ara_ , it's an honor to have you join us." The young woman straightened, gave him a sheepish nod and a quavering "thanks", but when he turned to tell everyone of her arrival, she glared down at Varric. He just smiled and stepped out of the way as she walked through.

"Give it back," she whispered harshly, jabbing her elbow against him.

"In due time," he purred, jabbing her right back. He led her over to the living room, where everyone greeted her with amused cheers and raised glasses. Almost everyone was sitting on the sofa, minus Solas and Blackwall who were in lounge chairs. Lavellan chose to sit at the far end of the sofa, case sitting in her lap. The way she sat was so obedient, she almost looked like...

"You look like a little door-to-door hitman," chuckled the Qunari, who was standing behind her. Lavellan looked over her shoulder, cheeks reddening, and gave a meek greeting to the massive man. Dorian laughed and clapped his hands together, before mimicking her posture.

"Ha! 'Yes, hello, is the little widow-to-be around?' " he chirped, before cracking up. Leliana giggled behind a hand, and even Solas couldn't help but chuckle. His Dalish compatriot wrung her hands together sheepishly.

"I-I was working on stuff before I came," was the pathetic excuse. Her companions scoffed, explaining it was a weekend. She felt a finger tug on the back of her jacket's collar and jumped. A low chuckle came from the Bull as he tugged again.

"You're a little overdressed," he murmured, and she swore his head was right behind her neck from the way he sounded. She flapped about like a wet hen as she threw the offending article off. Next came the gloves which she tucked into her pocket, followed by loosening her tie.

Lavellan's eyes darted back and forth as she quickly scanned everyone, and then swallowed a lump down as she opened her case. From the blue velvet, she gingerly pulled out her instrument of choice: a trumpet. Cassandra, who was busy hammering away on the piano (still not convinced), looked up when she saw the flash of brass. Her eyebrows lifted in surprise.

"So _that's_ what Varric was hiding," she exclaimed. The group looked over at her and then at Lavellan. Leliana let out an excited gasp and rushed over to her.

"Inquisitor! Oh, may I?" the redhead squealed, holding her hands out. The Inquisitor handed her the horn like it was illegal and looked away, clearing her throat. "And here I was supposed to know everything about you!"

"It... it's just a hobby," she so obviously lied. "It's nothing to w-write home about." The former bard's eyes twinkled in wonder as she pressed on the valves. Blackwall grinned from across the room as he held up his disassembled trombone.

"At least I won't be playing alone, anymore," he said, and smiled reassuredly.

"Funny, I thought you _enjoyed_ being alone when you played with your 'boner'," Dorian wisecracked as he rested his feet on the tree slice table. Solas nearly choked on his drink, Blackwall dropped his instrument, and Leliana gave him a surprised look. The Lady Seeker, failing to suppress a smile, beckoned their leader to the piano.

"Come, I will help you tune up."

 

* * *

 

 

Varric tucked the Inquisitor's phone back into his pocket when he heard someone call his name out in the living room. He picked up the tray laden with snacks and napkins and started through the doorway.

"Give me a C," he heard their boss request. As the dwarf stepped into the room, he slowly looked around and couldn't help but smile.

Everyone looked like they were having a good time, which made him breathe a small sigh of relief. He was worried that inviting Lavellan would make the gang tense up, but it seems just the opposite was true. She was clearly not used to cutting loose, at least not like this-- not through music. He was surprised she had showed up at _all_. She'd been so nervous about divulging that she could play; Varric chalked it up to inexperience.

 

"You owe us an explanation," Leliana murmured at him. She was sitting on the back of the sofa, legs dangling playfully. He blinked and looked at her, cracking a smile.  
"About what?" he whispered back, feigning innocence. She opened her mouth to retort, but was stopped by the soft warble of a trumpet.

At first it sounded like she was just playing a modified scale, but as she went on, Varric realized Lavellan was playing the opening bars to "I Love You, Samantha". She was slightly bent over the piano but eventually straightened, slowly tilting the trumpet's bell upwards. The dulcet sounds practically floated to the ceiling. Her eyes were closed and brow furled, probably in concentration to make sure she was on-key, but it was such a look of contained passion. When she opened them again, she jumped; everyone was staring. She quickly turned her back to them and struck up a conversation with a dazed Cassandra. Varric felt his grip on the tray's handles loosening and would have dropped the damn thing if it weren't for Solas catching it.

"What song was that?" Bull asked, eye following the female elf as she sat down on the sofa.

" 'I Love You, Samantha'."

"Name's not Samantha, boss. So what's the song called?" Wow, she  _really_ walked into that one. This time, Cassandra broke down first. 

"Look who's Captain Smooth all of a sudden," Varric joked, throwing a finger gun. It was Solas who caught his breath long enough to ask, "How long have you played?"

She mumbled something in response. Those closest to her (Varric, Leliana, and the aforementioned mage) had to lean in close and ask her to repeat herself. Varric took a step back, gasping melodramatically.

"Twenty-five years?!"

"I said eighteen!" cried the Inquisitor, hands curling into fists. She glared down at the floor as the dwarf circled around and set the tray down on the table, snickering.

"Eighteen years is  _not_ just a hobby," he pointed out.

"Indeed. Eighteen years of such talent, and you chose to hide it away?" lamented Solas. It was a bit of a loaded question, really, but nevermind that-- why was he suddenly sitting right next to her? She leaned back a little, smiling uncertainly.

"It... it's..."

The little scene didn't go unnoticed by their host.

"Look are we gonna play something?" he coughed. There were several cries in agreement, followed by the rustling of sheet music and instruments being tuned: Leliana plucking on her banjo, Dorian playing scales on his sax, the soft clash of cymbals as Bull arranged his drum kit. It was cacophonous but strangely melodic.

"Hey Blackwall, c'mere." Varric held out some sheets to the Grey Warden, who took them with some confusion. "I've got your part right here, here's your music-"

"Music?!" Blackwall exclaimed. "You know I don't read music, all I can play is 'Bye Bye Blues'," he huffed, handing him back the papers. Varric's eyes nearly fell out of his head.

"W-- well look, we're not gonna play 'Bye Bye Blues', we're gonna play 'Chicago'!"

"I don't know 'Chicago'! Look, the only thing I know is 'Bye Bye Blues'!"

"Then fake it!" Varric yelled, throwing his hands up.

" **ALRIGHT!** " roared Blackwall. He crashed back down into his chair, muttering and griping as he picked up his trombone. All Varric could do was look around at everyone, gesturing helplessly.

"All we want is a little jam session...!"

"Let's play!" "Look, just play it!" "Just play it, I gotta get outta here!"

 

* * *

 

"A-one, two, three, four!"

"Chicago" started off with breathy puffs of trumpet, which everyone wrote off as nerves on the Inquisitor's part. The regulars were syncing perfectly, as usual- they'd played often enough to know each others' quirks, strengths, and weaknesses. They literally played off of each other. Varric was having a great time noodling around on the clarinet, but Lavellan struggled to find the right mood. At the current moment, it was somewhere between "funeral march" and "my first recital". But then she accidentally let slip a spark of a lick. Everyone heard the little flicker of spirit and mourned its passing.

 _Why aren't you playing like that?_   was the universal thought in the room.

2 minutes into the piece, Varric couldn't take it anymore. He stopped playing and set his instrument on his music stand. One by one, so did everyone else.

"Look, Inquisitor, this isn't the Ring cycle," he sighed. "We're just playing hot jazz." The trumpeter looked down at the floor guiltily, her horn tilting downwards. Solas gave her shoulder a consoling squeeze.

"No one is here to judge you, _falon_ ," he said softly.

"That's not it, Chuckles. I _know_ she can play and she's trying to hide the fact." Varric stared with narrowed, searching eyes. An awkward silence settled in until he cleared his throat.

"Let's just play. Sorry, guys."

They picked up where they left off, the Inquisitor still playing obediently, providing musical backup during everyone's solos, but never daring to improvise or go slightly off the path. Just plodding right along, like he suspected. Well, shit, welcome to the rest of the evening.

All that was left now was the final refrain. Varric felt a pang of disappointment. He was sure that she could play better than this. It was almost infuriating. He kne-

 

A sudden peal of trumpet snapped him out of his thoughts. It sounded like a frightened horse at first, but then it slid down into something flirty and sizzling. Varric shot a stunned look at the Inquisitor. Her eyes were full of fire, the physical manifestation of those hot licks she was _finally_ playing. One foot tapped on the floor rhythmically as she counted the beats. Yet whenever she played a particularly sassy part, her whole body would twist and pivot.

Something fluttered in Varric's chest. 

Oh, _shit_.

The second the song finished, everybody was laughing and cheering, clinking glasses and bottles with the modest trumpeter. As he put his lips to his glass, their eyes met and a roguish grin spread across his features. Lavellan looked away hurriedly. Maybe it was just the alcohol, but he felt a warmth begin to blossom inside him.

Might not be such a bad night, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a picnic fic but then I realized it was boring and made it goofier


End file.
